the guy, who had a name tag that spelled out “Jerry Nichols.”
“Sure – Jerry, right?”
He held out a hand and the security guard shook it enthusiastically, looking about to see if people were paying attention. “I always thought you got a raw deal, not getting a chance to start and all. Especially after how well you did in pre-season that one year…”
“Thank you, that’s real nice,” Cobi said. “Look, as to the situation… do you really got to shove my man here around?”
The young man scrambled to his feet and wore a frightened expression. He was Buddy’s height, wearing brown ankle-length boots under his jeans. “I wasn’t doing anything! I swear! This fucking guy just started hassling me.” A few young women from the nearby crowd watched the performance.
“This young man is barred, Mr. Tate. It’s good that you’d stand up for someone you don’t know, but…”
“Sure,” Cobi said. “But he ain’t exactly a big guy, Jerry. You could maybe cut him a break instead of shoving him around?” Cobi once felt like the little guy himself; it had been a long time ago, but the memory stuck around. Feeling powerless wasn’t an easy thing to get past, and mounting incidents could weigh on a man like stones in his pockets.
“I can’t do that, Mr. Tate. He sneaks in, and he’s been hanging out on the concourse causing trouble, approaching customers as they come downstairs to the venue...”
“He’s got the wrong guy, I’m telling you!” the young man declared.
“Your name Thomas Joseph Orton?”
“Yeah, that’s me. But I’m telling you, I haven’t done shit to these people. I’ve got a ticket stub here somewhere to prove I’m a paying customer, same as anyone else.” He started feeling around in his jean jacket.
“This kid is a weed dealer,” the guard said. “I saw him sell a teenager loose joints last week not thirty yards from here, and my colleague tossed him not two days after that.”
“Yeah?” the young man challenged. “Were you thirty yards away? Because whoever you saw, it wasn’t me. Seriously, I’m a decent, hardworking guy. This is total bullshit. He has the wrong guy.”
“I’ve got to throw him out, Mr. Tate,” the guard said.
“Can you cut him a break just this once, Jerry? As a favor to me, for old times’ sake?”
The guard looked unconvinced, but relented. “Okay, Mr. Tate, for you. But if he causes any problem, he’s out, immediately.”
“That’s fine.” The rest of the concourse had stopped looking their way and turned their attentions back to beer and hot dogs.
“It sure is great to see you again. I was telling the wife the other day that sometimes working here was like working at the stadium, where everyone knew each other and you could get outside in the summer, where you kind of felt like everyone was a big family. You get a chance to see any…?”
Cobi cut him off. “Jerry, I should get to the concessions stand, for my friends back at our seats. I’ll keep an eye on this guy until he gets back to his, okay?”
“Okay, Mr. Tate.” Jerry nodded too much, nervous all these years later, just like he’d been back in the day. “Sure, absolutely, Mr. Tate. Uh huh. It was good talking to you again.” Jerry turned and headed down the concourse, looking back over his shoulder with a small smile and wave before moving on.
Cobi turned back towards the thinning crowd of people at the concession, others having gone back to their seats for the next round. In the background, he heard the bell ring for it to start. He nodded for the young man to follow then moved towards the side of the room. When they were out of anyone’s earshot, he said, “Look man, I don’t really care about your issues, or whether you’re selling weed or whatever, just don’t mess round with guys in uniform twice your size, okay? Where are you sitting?”
The kid looked around furtively, then whispered, “I don’t really have a seat, mister…”
“Tate.
“Sure – Jerry, right?”
He held out a hand and the security guard shook it enthusiastically, looking about to see if people were paying attention. “I always thought you got a raw deal, not getting a chance to start and all. Especially after how well you did in pre-season that one year…”
“Thank you, that’s real nice,” Cobi said. “Look, as to the situation… do you really got to shove my man here around?”
The young man scrambled to his feet and wore a frightened expression. He was Buddy’s height, wearing brown ankle-length boots under his jeans. “I wasn’t doing anything! I swear! This fucking guy just started hassling me.” A few young women from the nearby crowd watched the performance.
“This young man is barred, Mr. Tate. It’s good that you’d stand up for someone you don’t know, but…”
“Sure,” Cobi said. “But he ain’t exactly a big guy, Jerry. You could maybe cut him a break instead of shoving him around?” Cobi once felt like the little guy himself; it had been a long time ago, but the memory stuck around. Feeling powerless wasn’t an easy thing to get past, and mounting incidents could weigh on a man like stones in his pockets.
“I can’t do that, Mr. Tate. He sneaks in, and he’s been hanging out on the concourse causing trouble, approaching customers as they come downstairs to the venue...”
“He’s got the wrong guy, I’m telling you!” the young man declared.
“Your name Thomas Joseph Orton?”
“Yeah, that’s me. But I’m telling you, I haven’t done shit to these people. I’ve got a ticket stub here somewhere to prove I’m a paying customer, same as anyone else.” He started feeling around in his jean jacket.
“This kid is a weed dealer,” the guard said. “I saw him sell a teenager loose joints last week not thirty yards from here, and my colleague tossed him not two days after that.”
“Yeah?” the young man challenged. “Were you thirty yards away? Because whoever you saw, it wasn’t me. Seriously, I’m a decent, hardworking guy. This is total bullshit. He has the wrong guy.”
“I’ve got to throw him out, Mr. Tate,” the guard said.
“Can you cut him a break just this once, Jerry? As a favor to me, for old times’ sake?”
The guard looked unconvinced, but relented. “Okay, Mr. Tate, for you. But if he causes any problem, he’s out, immediately.”
“That’s fine.” The rest of the concourse had stopped looking their way and turned their attentions back to beer and hot dogs.
“It sure is great to see you again. I was telling the wife the other day that sometimes working here was like working at the stadium, where everyone knew each other and you could get outside in the summer, where you kind of felt like everyone was a big family. You get a chance to see any…?”
Cobi cut him off. “Jerry, I should get to the concessions stand, for my friends back at our seats. I’ll keep an eye on this guy until he gets back to his, okay?”
“Okay, Mr. Tate.” Jerry nodded too much, nervous all these years later, just like he’d been back in the day. “Sure, absolutely, Mr. Tate. Uh huh. It was good talking to you again.” Jerry turned and headed down the concourse, looking back over his shoulder with a small smile and wave before moving on.
Cobi turned back towards the thinning crowd of people at the concession, others having gone back to their seats for the next round. In the background, he heard the bell ring for it to start. He nodded for the young man to follow then moved towards the side of the room. When they were out of anyone’s earshot, he said, “Look man, I don’t really care about your issues, or whether you’re selling weed or whatever, just don’t mess round with guys in uniform twice your size, okay? Where are you sitting?”
The kid looked around furtively, then whispered, “I don’t really have a seat, mister…”
“Tate.
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